Profaci Saves The Day
by Twins Of Hazzard
Summary: The criminal justice system is in pandemonium, and only one person can help...everyone's favorite donut-bearing, sweater-vest-wearing detective, Tony Profaci! (Ch. 7 up: Logan becomes a man and McCoy tries to win Claire back)
1. Hello, My Name Is McCoy, And I'm A Minta...

Authors' Note: As you may have already figured out, we are insane. And insane people get ideas very often, ideas that are either insanely brilliantly or brilliantly insane (we can't decide). And, as it happens, many of these ideas have something to do with L&O. Over the course of our time as the Twins of Hazzard, many of these Ideas have come to us, but none of them have been enough to write an entire fic out of. But one day, after many frappucinos and some Mexican hot chocolate and not very much sleep, we decided that we would incorporate all of these ideas into one ginormous fic, more insane than "Life After Love Was Not Going So Well", more abusive to characters than "The Real McCoy". It has every character in it except Robinette, Nora (AHHHHH!!! THE EVIL!), Serena (I'm sorry, but do we really need to explain why we didn't put her in? Does ANYBODY like her? The answer is no), Ceretta and Greavey (sorry if the spelling is incorrect, but they're not very interesting, although Paul Sorvino does, apparently, sing opera...oh, the humanity), Craigen (because, well...he's Craigen. It's not his fault or anything, but that doesn't give him an excuse), Ms. Ross or Abby (they left in a huff after McCoy didn't sleep with them like they had been promised when they agreed to work for him), or New Scary Southern DA (because he's scary and southern). Basically, all the interesting characters are in it, and it takes place after 'The Real McCoy", which took place after "Life After Love Was Not Going So Well", but if you haven't read them then don't worry. That said, enjoy the fic!  
  
*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
Hello, My Name Is McCoy, And I'm A Mintaholic  
  
It all began exactly one week before Christmas Eve Eve. Spring having sprung and Fall having fell, Winter had done whatever Winter does, and all of New York was enjoying a white Christmas and spending their time buying Christmas tree after Christmas tree, roasting chestnuts on an open fire, sitting on the couch and toasting their Eddie Bauer sock-clad toes in from of the fireplace, and taking rides through Central Park in carriages pulled by grossly underpaid horses. It was snowing so much that no one really noticed the smog, and all New Yorkers had escaped their New York states of mind for a while and were feeling peace toward men, Claire and McCoy included. In fact, everyone at both the Twenty-Seventh Precinct and One Hogan Place were having themselves a very merry Christmas-Van Buren had loosened up a little and had spread tinsel through the Precinct and stopped yelling at the detectives because of her frustrations concerning her son's computer, Lennie had finally stopped wearing short-sleeved shirts and causing people to have to gouge their eyes out with sharp implements whenever he got within fifty feet of them, and Schiff, it could be said, had even begun to grumble somewhat festively. All in all, everyone was not only happy but quite merry indeed. And, as usual, no one knocked on wood.  
  
The problems really all began when McCoy figured out he could put mentos (the fresh maker) into the freezer and they would be even more refreshingly fresh than ever. However once taken out of the freezer the freshness was just gone, and once having enjoyed the amazing tingly sensation they produced, there was no way to go back to the regular mintiness. So McCoy began to take little breaks from work, at lunch he would go home and eat mentos out of the freezer, he stopped working late in order to be with his mentos. Slowly this began to affect his job performance. Schiff threatened him by taking him to the public defense office and showing him a man remarkably like himeself who had once been an EADA and was now defending people who thought they were eggplants. In a state of horror McCoy promised to stop going to the mentos, but at this point it was too late. He was hooked.  
  
One day, as McCoy lay on the floor of his small yet spiffy kitchen, clutching an empty roll of mentos in his clenched fist and knowing that if he didn't get to court in approximately seven seconds he would lose the case, he realized that something must be done. And then, a plan came to him, so simple and yet effective that he was amazed that he hadn't thought of it before: he would buy a mini-freezer and fill it with Mentos, and take it wherever he went. Motivated by the knowledge that he could remain the rootinest tootinest EADA in town and still get his mento fix, he scurried out to the nearest Sharper Image as fast as his legs could carry him and bought a little mini-freezer that not only kept mentos cold but also, keeping with the Sharper Image philosophy, made rice and broadcast Thai radio stations.  
  
The plan seemed perfect. The next day he came to work, mini-freezer stocked to bursting with mentos, and smiled serenely as both Schiff and Claire glared at him in a way that made them look remarkably like those big head on Easter Island. After a few hours of work, McCoy was still happy as can be, having downed several mentos and played some footsie with Claire, the only problem being that upon seeing the footsie Schiff ran out of the room screaming, but McCoy just shrugged it off-Schiff could be that way sometimes. Then, right after lunch, McCoy's latest case (a man who had planted a bomb on a bus that would go off if the bus went under fifty miles per hour-while prosecuting the case McCoy was plagued by a never-ending feeling of deja vu) came into the office with his lawyer, ready to make a deal.  
  
The lawyer suggested that the man get 200 hours of community service for obstructing public transportation. And McCoy, who was at this point so addled by the intense mintiness, could think of nothing. So instead of suggesting that the defense attorney go to hell and sit on a hot coal until it snowed, he simply held up his roll of mentos and, with a slightly daft smile, said "mentos: the fresh maker" and then had a mint, hoping that it would clear his mind. Unfortunately, the defense attorney took this to be a yes and escorted her client out of the office with a big smile on her face, and by the time McCoy realized what had happened, she was gone.  
  
Schiff fired him. When Claire came by McCoys apartment to comport him she fond him organizing the mentos by flavor and size. He had bought special ice trays to keep them in. Claire told him he really had to get help and he stared blankly at her and said, " I heard a new flavor is coming out, cherry pie."  
  
Claire dumped him. Lennie got him a job as a secretary at the Two-Seven, where there was full access to the mini fringe where they kept urine samples. McCoy just had to answer phones, file papers order Chinese food and eat mentos all the live long day. Sometimes he even acted out a little play (mainly "The Little Prince") using the mentos as main characters. Slowly the mentos became more than food, they became his friends and family, and they tasted soooo good!  
  
The diligent police officers knew better than to bother the insane secretary who played with mentos. It was better then the time he was cloned and had moved under Lennie's desk and threw flowers everywhere. McCoy was the little island of insanity in an otherwise sane precinct, and let it never be said that public servants don't appreciate diversity (after all, Lennie had one black partner!).  
  
Besides, the detectives had bigger fish to fry. Logan and Handsome Ben, who apparently had nothing better to do (Deborah had finally actually left Handsome Ben, and Logan, to his dismay, had dated every woman in Manhattan and therefore had no one to sleep with) had decided to visit Lennie, and were helping him with his cases. No one really noticed McCoy, except for Green, who one day soon after McCoy began working at the Precinct noticed that McCoy was constantly singing a little song and using the mentos as backup singers. Green Wandered over to McCoy's desk and asked curiously "Um, McCoy? What song are you singing?"  
  
"'Hang on Sloopy'!" McCoy said cheerily between verses, right before he popped in another one of his backup singers. "It's by the McCoys" McCoy explained, "so it's by ME!"  
  
"Oh." Green said. "Well, you know, given that it was recorded in the sixties by a pop group, it was probably written by your producer or something."  
  
"Oh," McCoy said, all happiness disappearing from his face as he tried to think of a reply. Instead, he ate another mento and resumed his singing with much vim and vigor. Life was good.  
  
Green left McCoy with the song now lodged in his head just as Lennie sidled over to offer McCoy some words of encouragement-as a former alcoholic he felt that he should give McCoy some support and let him know that there was still hope. He was nearly done with his speech when he looked over and noticed something, the most terrible thing that could ever happen to him and to the Two-Seven.  
  
Now, the Twenty-Seventh Precinct is a delicate piece of machinery, made up of many parts, and if just one of those parts breaks than the entire machine will collapse and fall into disrepair until that part is fixed and work can resume. And the central piece, the most important bit of machinery, the keystone of the Precinct, is the coffee maker. And so, when it gurgled to a halt that cold day in December, all hell broke loose.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC.  
  
Additional Note: we request at least three reviews before we post the next chapter. So, if you are reading this, please give us a review even if it isn't signed, our egos are very underfed. 


	2. I Know What's In My Tie

*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
I Know What's In My Tie  
  
After McCoy was fired, Schiff was forced to find a new EADA, preferably one that wouldn't sleep with all his assistants. ("But why is it always a he?" L asked inquisitively. "Well, it, I mean...It has to..." Dick Wolf said, flustered, "here's a sucker." "Yay!" said L, immediately forgetting her question.) The only man he could possibly think of for the job ( mainly because he didn't want to hire a new actor and a train him in legalese) was...BEN STONE!  
  
The man who had raised one Hogan place out of the dumps and into the light was finally back from his long vacation in Europe, where he had annoyed countless tour guides about the origins of the flowers surrounding statues in one of the countless gardens in one of the countless countries in the singular continent that is Europe. After having his passport revoked for emotional damage to small Japanese tourists he came back to cold apartment in New York and just as he walked in the door the phone rang, and guess what? It was Schiff offering him a job, or rather his old job. The reason he was given? Insanity, caused by mentos.  
  
Stone ("You mean Mean Mr. Southern," L said indignantly. "Yes, that too," said S, who was sort of in love with Stone for a week but has since seen the error of her ways) really only accepted because he knew he would be working with Claire, and because of that he could finally win her back (not that he had her in the first place). He had spent all his time in Europe- no one had any idea how long he actually spent there-when not looking at his tie thinking about Claire...her long blonde hair, her clear blue eyes, her adorable pink dresses. It could be said that Stone-er, Mean Mr. Southern-didn't have a particularly good memory, but that didn't mean that he wasn't sincere. And so Stone gladly accepted and bounded to his room with a spring in his step, whereupon he spent the rest of the evening choosing the perfect tie. When he finally found one (American flags with a blue background) and put it on, he knew as soon as he looked in the mirror that Claire would be his. Maybe McCoy was passionate about his job and drank lots of scotch and knew what was in his heart, but he Ben knew what was in his tie. And that was the most important thing. Besides, he could get Clint Eastwood's autograph for Claire (they had been drinking buddies ever since they did "Pale Rider" together, except that Stone didn't drink, so he ended up just going to bars and having grape juice while Clint drank beer).  
  
Stone arrived at work the next morning to find Claire staring longingly at a half-empty bottle of scotch, a pile of files nearly as tall as Stone himself beside her on the desk. Stone just stood there for a while, waiting for Claire to look up so that he could play "Unchained Melody" on his boom box and kiss her passionately. When, after about fifteen minutes, she showed no interest in him whatsoever, he pressed the play button and cleared his throat very loudly. Claire looked up, tears pouring down her cheeks.  
  
"Oh, Ben!" she wailed very wailingly, "McCoy always loved that song!"  
  
Stone sat down next ho her and politely offered her his handkerchief for her to dry her eyes with. "Really?" he asked.  
  
"No," she said, scrubbing at her mascara, "he was always kind of obsessed with the Beatles, actually. He never did like the Righteous Brothers."  
  
"I love the Righteous Brothers," Stone said tenderly, putting his arm around Claire's shoulders.  
  
"Me too," Claire said, delicately blowing her nose on Stone's tie.  
  
Stone kissed her passionately, or at least as passionately as he could manage, which wasn't very passionate at all because, let's face it, he's Stone. But at that moment Claire was ready to give her whole heart to him because sweet surrender was all she had to give-  
  
"Oh, please let's don't make this a musical," L said weakly.  
  
"Oh fine," S said in a huff, "but you know we haven't had a musical in so long and I just thought it would be nice to have everyone sing a little song."  
  
"No," said L, "and that's final, anyway you had the Laverne and Shirley can- can dancers in the last one."  
  
"Fine, now can we please get back to the fic?" said S who was holding her small gray cat for comfort.  
  
"Ok".  
  
Ben Stone broke away the best kiss he had ever had in his life, looked deep into Claire's eyes, and said, "I know what's in my tie."  
  
"Really," she said, sounding interested (not really, I lied), "what is in your tie?"  
  
"Well, for a start," he said, "snot, and some ketchup from my omelet this morning and some lettuce from my salad and some soy sauce-how'd that get there? I haven't had soy sauce since last week."  
  
"Maybe you forgot to wash it." Said a bored sounding Claire.  
  
"Never! For I am Ben Stone the almighty EADA, better then Jack McCoy, less hair than Adam, and more popular than God!"  
  
"Um, Ben, I think maybe you should take a nap." said Claire who had by now backed herself into a corner and was cowering with a dishtowel that was there for some reason over her head.  
  
"Nap? Why, I never sleep!" said Stone, who by now had climbed on top of the desk and was attempting to fashion a cape out of some files with his EZ-sew (you can fix a dropped hem at work!). "For I am Ben Stone, stronger than-- "  
  
Bu Claire never did get to find out who Stone was stronger than, because at that point she bashed him over the head with a container mu-shu pork.  
  
Claire was, at this point, having some doubts as to whether she wanted to spend the rest of her life being told what was in Stone's tie. McCoy, who knew what was in his heart, which was far better in Claire's opinion, had been gone a week and for all she knew had been killed again by Lennie. Suddenly she missed McCoy more than she ever thought she could-his warm embrace, his strong hands, his soft kisses, his-  
  
"Wait, wait, stop," L said in alarm, pulling out large chunks of hair, "you can't do this."  
  
"Do what?" S said innocently, petting her cat.  
  
"TURN THIS INTO FLUFF!" L screamed in frustration.  
  
"But.it's under Romance," S pointed out meekly.  
  
"No, it's under Comedy/Romance. COMEDY/ROMANCE!!! THERE'S A DIFFERENCE, S!"  
  
"Oh, fine," S said, handing the cat to L, "what does Claire miss?"  
  
"Well," said L, who had just finished her Asian Philosophy paper and was very tired and still had TEN POUNDS OF HOMEWORK TO DO (which may or may not have accounted for why she was so very cranky), "I think she misses playing footsie."  
  
"Ok," said S, "continue the fic."  
  
Claire deeply missed playing footsie, not just with McCoy but with anyone. The soft feel of a silk sock gliding against her foot, the gentle tingly feeling that went up her spine. So she propped up Stone in a chair at that big table where they make all the dramatic deals in the last 2 minutes of the episode, and began to play footsie with him. Unfortunately, at this point Schiff walked in the room and upon seeing the footsie ran out screaming at the top of his lungs.  
  
He ran through the halls, screaming. He ran through the rooms, screaming. He picked up a new lawyer at the DA's office by his tie and yelled into his face, "stop the madness!!! "  
  
Then he gently put down the shaking wet-behind-the-ears-lawyer and walked calmly into his office, sat down in big leather chair and began to look DEEP into the past. "Ok", said L happily stroking the cat, " I think that takes care of chapter two, what do you think?"  
  
"It's fine, now give me my cat back." TBC(dun dun dunnnn) 


	3. Midnight At The Rabbi's Table

Authors' Note: sorry we haven't updated for soo long (three weeks, in fact...isn't that pathetic how we keep track of these things?), but we have vowed to only write fic when we're together, and, as this is sometimes impossible (as Judd Nelson put it so perfectly in "The Breakfast Club": "The world's an imperfect place; screws fall out all the time." So true. Didn't we all have a bit of a crush on Bender the first time we saw that?), we can't write as much as we would like to. But, without further ado.on to the fic!!  
  
PS: we would just like to say that we do not mean to offend anyone by this fic. We are very against children being molested by religious figures, especially Rabbis, and both of us got very upset when we saw that episode about Logan and his priest and had to eat lots of Haagen Dazs to calm our nerves. Besides.aren't you glad to have Schiff's footsie-phobia (known officially as footsiaphobia) explained? So, anyway (and I really do mean it this time). on to the fic!!  
  
*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
Midnight At The Rabbi's Table  
  
*~*~*  
  
As Schiff looked DEEP into the past, he recalled the night that changed everything...  
  
He had just turned twenty-one, and to commemorate the event the Rabbi from his synagogue had him and his parents over for dinner. As it happened the rabbi was currently wooing a young lady from temple and, she too was at the dinner, sitting next to Schiff and two seats away from the rabbi. During the course of the meal the rabbi became rather inebriated and somewhat amorous, and his drunk brain decided it would be a rather good idea to play footsie with his girlfriend. So the rabbi (Mr. X for our purposes) ran his foot slowly up and down what he thought was his girlfriend's calf. But it was, in fact...(dun-dun-dunnn...)  
  
The leg of Adam Schiff, future district Attorney of Manhattan, and Impressionable Young Man. As young Adam felt the soft socked foot gliding up his leg, he felt the back of his neck prickle and his face go red with shame. As soon as his got home, he took a long hot shower which eventually turned into a long cold shower, brushed his teeth, and combed through what was left of his hair (he had begun to go bald on his sweet sixteen).  
  
But it was too late.  
  
Things would never be the same again.  
  
Schiff shuddered, staring out the window at the sparkling high-rises of Manhattan (cliché alert! Cliché alert!). And he knew, then, that with Skoda vacationing in Missouri (ostensibly to perfect his cow-tipping skills, but Schiff suspected that the real reason he had gone back was to get away from crime-apparently there was none in Missouri; people tried to kill each other with chickens every now and then but it didn't work very well), there was only one person who could help him, only one person who had gone through what he had, only one person who would understand...  
  
Mike Logan.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	4. The Night That Never Would Have Happened...

Authors' Note: we realize that this chapter of the fic is rather...odd. We have nothing against slash writers, oviously it's a free country they can do whatever they want, but personally can you really see Logan and Handsome Ben getting it on? I mean really, all they ever did on the show was pick up strange women and get hit on. Honestly, we have nothing against slash fics, and if your offended by the idea of making fun of them, don't read this. But we don't really care. Oh, and Lenni! is pronounced the normal way. But you have to shriek while saying it.  
  
*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
The Night That Never Would Have Happened Anyway  
  
Or...  
  
Back To The Precinct!  
  
*~*~*  
  
As Schiff walked into the 2-7, he saw that things hadn't greatly improved since the last time he had gone there. McCoy was attempting to cross examine his mentos (thanks to whoever gave that suggestion, we can't remember your name and we aren't signed on. But you are brill) Lennie was standing on his desk doing the monkey to the tune of "Do The Hustle", occasionally jumping off to save Van Buren whenever anyone came within fifty feet of her. He did this by throwing himeelf at the ground (he attempted to land somewhere near her feet, but Lennie has bad aim) and landing on his paunch. Thankfully, this saved him any serious injury. Woe betides the day that there is no coffee.  
  
Thankfully, Handsome Ben and Logan were an island of serenity in an ocean of insanity. Sort of.  
  
"You know," said Handsome Ben, " there are all these fics where you and I get together, we should really try that."  
  
"What!" sputtered Logan, spitting out his earl grey tea (you must remember that there is no coffee), "are you suggesting that you and I... should, um, ah..."  
  
"You know Logan, I would think a man of your experience would be more comfortable with his own sexuality." Said Handsome Ben a little sadly. "But if you need some time to think about it, I'll be in Van Buren's office."  
  
It was at this point that Logan ran from his desk screaming, his skinny plaid tie flying behind him and that vein in his forehead bulging. In fact, he was so intent on getting as far away from Handsome Ben as he could as quickly as was humanly possible (because, really, he wasn't THAT handsome) that he didn't notice Green heading into the precinct, whistling "Hang On Sloopy" in a manner more cheerful than one would suppose, considering the current events. He was also carrying a cup of coffee.  
  
"MINE!" Logan shrieked, attempting to wrest the cup out of Green's grip, spilling hot coffee all over Green's pants. Unfortunately, it was not hot enough to scald him, thus allowing him to sue the coffee company for massive sums of money.  
  
"Shoot," Green said, irritated, "now I'll have to take off these pants."  
  
("Meep!" L shrieked in ecstasy.)  
  
"Sorry," Logan said, after he had finished licking up what he could from the floor. "Why were you gone, anyway?"  
  
"Well," Green said, "you know it's kind of a funny story. I was just hanging around the mall, helping old ladies up and down the escalater, when I noticed that this CD store had a special on that new Kelly Clarkson CD, so I went in, but I still had "Hang On Sloopy" stuck in my head from when McCoy wouldn't stop singing it (at the mention of his name McCoy looked up and arched his eyebrows, and he would have looked very dignified if it weren't for the dozens of mentos stuck in his mouth) so there I was, browsing the racks and humming, when all of a sudden this talent agent came up and said he wanted to sign me for a major record label. So now I have a thirty thousand dollar contract for the next three months, and free coffee."  
  
At the mention of the perks of his new job, the detectives, who had congregated around him (especially Lennie, although we're not sure how you can especially congregate, but Lennie can do all sorts of things we never thought he could do), all had simultaneous heart attacks and had to be taken to the hospital. Lennie, however, managed to contain his envy and went up to Green to ask him the one question that had plagued him since his last divorce.  
  
"Say, Green," Lennie said very sayingly, "how do you think I could become more attractive to younger women? I was thinking you'd have some advice, since, you know, you're in show biz now."  
  
"Well," Green said thoughtfully, "you could always change your name. I remember when I was young and in my salad days, I went by my given name, Sheldon. But I found fairly quickly that women just couldn't be attracted to a man named Sheldon. So I changed my name to Ed. And before I knew it, I had to beat them off with a stick. Quite conveniently, precisely at this moment L rushed up and hurled herself onto Green's body, and no matter how hard he shook her he couldn't remove the insane fic writer. After exhausting all possibilities, he beat her off with a stick. "Wow," Lennie said, amazed. "And I always thought that was just a figure of speech."  
  
"Well, that's because you've never had to do it. And I think that's because of your name. Women just can't be all that attracted to someone named Lennie. The only solution is to give you a name that makes you seem more youthful."  
  
"Like Ricky?" Lennie suggested.  
  
"No." Said Green. "But what you could do is change the ending of your name so it ends in an I. That always makes people seem more youthful. So, instead of Lennie, you'll be Lenni!"  
  
"Wow! Thanks, Ed!" said Lennie-er, Lenni!--heading off to the coffee machine in the hopes that it had fixed itself and he wouldn't have to drink any more of that damn tea (they were down to their last box of Earl Grey, mainly because of Logan's addiction, but they still had plenty of Lemon Berry Zinger and Passion Fruit Frenzy).  
  
At the coffee maker (which still wasn't working by the way) Lenni! ran into Van Buren and said, " Hey Luietenent, I changed my name, now it's Lenni!."  
  
Van Buren went into paroxysms of joy and began nibbling on his ear.  
  
"Wow," Lenni! said, pleased, "it really does work!"  
  
At this point Logan walked over, an air of gloom hanging heavy around him.  
  
"What's wrong Logan?" Asked Lenni!, not really caring because Van Buren had moved down from his ear and now was trying to eat his shoulder.  
  
"I got my bi-annual drug test back." Said Logan with a small sob.  
  
"Oh, no!" Van Buren said through a mouthful of Lenni!, "are the results positive?"  
  
"No," Logan said miserably, "I'm five percent positive for Earl Grey. Apparently it's controlled substance outside of England!" Of course, what Lenni! and Van Buren heard went more like: "doe. I'b fibe berzent bozzidive fer earlb Bgrey, Abbarendly id's a condroled subzdanz owdzide uv Inglind!" (Logan was feeling a tad mucusy at the time.)  
  
"You mean you're..." Lenni! said, disbelieving.  
  
"Yes," Logan sobbed. "My left foot is on drugs!"  
  
"Oh, poor baby!" Van Buren said, looking up from Lenni!'s right nipple. "Why don't you go lie down in my office for a while? And...ah....while you're there, maybe you could smash my son's computer? Just a suggestion." She added.  
  
Logan nodded and shuffled into Van Buren's office. Of course, as soon as he saw its contents, he knew that rest would not be an option that day, and not for may days to come.  
  
The room was strewn ankle-deep with rose petals, and Frank Sinatra played softly on a stereo hidden somewhere. The heady scent of gardenias and jasmine weighted the air, and bottle of Dom Perignon chilled in its bucket, two crystal flutes beside it. And, sprawled on Van Buren's desk in a ruby- red satin teddy with matching garter belt and fishnets, was Handsome Ben.  
  
"Merry Christmas, sugar pie," he whispered, getting up and beginning to pour the champagne.  
  
"AAAAAAHH!!" Logan said expressively, fleeing the room. But just as he reached the threshold, his drug-addled left foot gave out, and he was forced to drag himself out of the precinct, shrieking all the way, and only stopping his fevered pace once he was safely locked inside his apartment.  
  
"Wait!" Handsome Ben said, rushing out after him, "don't you want your present?"  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC... 


	5. Logan Is NOT Big!

Authors Note: We're ba-ack! The Twins of Hazzard would like to apologize very sincerely for their prolonged absence from fanfiction.net, but there were reasons--such as excessive amounts of homework from both L and S's insanely demanding schools, several odd inner conflicts on S's part (S: don't tell them that! L: Shut Up! I'm rationalizing) and L's mock trial team taking 6th place in state (S: L, who haven't you told about mock trial? L: You're just jealous). Yes, life is not kind to two L&O obsessed fanfic authors. But we still find time to cater to the needs to our adoring fans, and, as they say, better late than never. But anyway, on to the fic!  
  
*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
Logan Is NOT Big!  
  
--or--  
  
My Left Foot  
  
It had been several days since Mike Logan had dared to leave his small yet oddly well decorated apartment (for a cop anyway) for fear of seeing Handsome Ben clad only in a teddy (or worse, less) outside his door. But his time inside had not been good for him. The several boxes of Earl Gray tea left in the cupboard had worsened the addiction, and Logan was now harboring serious suspicions that his left ankle was now a drug addict as well.  
  
But, regardless of all his troubles, after a week he was forced to leave his apartment, lace doilies and all. He ran out of Earl Gray after three days, every hour consuming more of it than he had the last. By the time the week was out he was waking up in cold sweats, shaking, after nightmares of Handsome Ben wearing his red satin teddy and table-dancing to "I've Had The Time Of My Life" on Lennie's desk at the precinct. Every night he would run to his kitchen and, panicked, raid the cupboards for Earl Grey, but to no avail. So, finally, he left very early on a Saturday morning for Seven Eleven, walking as fast as he could in his condition and hoping that no one--especially Handsome Ben--would see him. What he didn't know was that there was an even greater danger out there, prowling the streets of Manhattan and waiting for his appearance.  
  
Carrie (insert last name, sorry, we don't watch "Sex in the City") had been having a wonderful day before those frantic moments outside of the Seven Eleven. She'd been shopping all day, and had found a beautiful pair of Prada shoes and a Kate Spade handbag that matched perfectly. But still, something was missing.  
  
Big.  
  
There was no way to get around it. She, Carrie (insert last name) missed (insert first name) Big. Life just wasn't complete without him, and ever since he'd gone off to (insert place name) she'd felt empty inside. Which must have explained the great joy she felt at seeing a man that looked very much like Big outside a Seven Eleven at midnight clutching a box of Earl Grey tea.  
  
"Big!" She yelled upon seeing the man, and rushed towards him. "But I thought you were in/at (insert place name) until (insert far off time)!" Carrie made a move to hug the stunned Logan, who jumped back from her as fast as he could.  
  
"But Big," Carrie pouted, "don't you love me?"  
  
"I'm not big." Said Logan. Now a normal Logan would have never uttered such words (we're praying you got the double meaning here) but a drug-addled Logan took a moment to realize the full weight of what he said.  
  
"I mean," Logan sputtered, "well, I am big. Yes, I'm definitely big."  
  
"Big!" Shrieked Carrie as she ran forward and hugged Logan so hard his eyeballs bugged out and he dropped his precious Earl Grey.  
  
"No, no-I meant that-" Logan said desperately, but his words were muffled by the fabric of Carrie (insert last name)'s brand-new Donna Karan top, and she didn't let go until he finally broke free in his desperate attempt to get his tea back.  
  
"Big," Carrie whined. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Look," Logan said, "I need to explain something to you." He looked her straight in the eye and tried to seem as sane and rational as possible, which was difficult with the dark circled under his eyes, the stained sweatpants he had on, and the soggy tea bag in his hair (although he didn't know about the tea bag). "I'm really not Big. I mean, I'm large, but-I'm not Big. I'm definitely large, though. Let's just make that clear."  
  
Carrie furrowed her brow and tried to look thoughtful, which ended up having about the same effect as Serena trying to speak in legalese. "So, Large.are you Big's brother or something?"  
  
"No!" Logan cried, hitting himself on the head with exasperation and coming away with the tea bag. "My name isn't Large, or Big, or any other adjective for that matter. My name is Logan. I'm definitely not Big, but I'm still big." Logan hoped she would understand his explanation, but there didn't really seem to be much hope of that since what he had said didn't even make much sense to him.  
  
"Big!" Carrie shouted gleefully, throwing her arms around him again. "Oh, I knew it was you, even though you said you were going to (insert place name)! Come back to my place and I'll give you a welcome-home present. I bought some new underwear at Victoria's Secret just in case."  
  
Logan had been planning on throwing her to the ground and bolting, with or without his Earl Grey, until he heard the last thing he said. He was sure he had slept with her before (she did fall under the category of "every woman in Manhattan") but sex didn't sound to bad to him at the moment, especially after what he had been through.  
  
"Sex?" he said weakly, finding such good luck almost unbelievable.  
  
"Well, sure, Big," Carrie said sweetly. "It is in the title of the show, after all."  
  
Logan smiled a Logan-smile and ran his hand seductively down her back. "So, baby.what kind of underwear?"  
  
"A red satin teddy."  
  
Suddenly the world began to spin-the pavement, Carrie's carefully made-up face, even the stoned guys sitting at the front of the parking lot as they watched Logan and Carrie with fascination and drank their slurpees. He couldn't seem to find his footing, and it was all he could really do to grab his box of tea and run as fast as he could go on his lifeless left foot. Carrie followed him but her new heels proved as much of an impediment as Logan's tea-addicted foot, and as he had had lots of practice chasing after perps while Lennie came huffing a puffing along behind him, he reached his building just a fraction of a second before she did, slamming the door so hard behind him that her Ralph Lauren pashmnina got caught in it. Sitting in his apartment, greedily cramming handfuls of tea bags into his mouth, he knew that he would have to leave again someday, and when that time came, there was only one place for him to go: the 2-7.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC.  
  
Oh, and by the way, we'd like to request at least four super-size 22% butterfat home-grown Kentucky fried reviews before we post again-it'll take us that long to write the next chapter anyway. Holding our chapters ransom has never really worked before, but we'll give you meddling kids one more chance. 


	6. Welcome To The 2 7, Ladies Drink Free

Authors' Note: This is S here, apologizing on behalf of the Twins of Hazzard for L's erratic behavior over the past few days. She has been frantically emailing some of our fans and telepathically contacting the rest with the message that the Twins of Hazzard have returned. And, at a normal time, I would call her insane for doing so (she's a bit desperate for reviews, folks, so humor the poor insane fic-writer), but now, I can understand it. Because there is a simple truth we must face: the Law and Order section of ff.net is in serious danger. Law and Order was great for a few years-it was damn great, goddammit-but ever since Claire was killed of it's been getting worse, and what with the best DA in town retiring and Serena escaping from Bellevue and being appointed ADA, we doubt that it will ever be the same. And this has had a detrimental effect on the ficcage, to say the least-so L and I, with the help of our other dedicated ficwriters, on and off ff.net (you know who you are, folks.and we commend you: may the Wolf be with you) we intend to save it. And now, on a lighter note, L will take over.  
  
The twins of Hazzard have noticed over the approximate two years that they have reading fanfiction (hey, we bloomed late) that often one author will issue a challenge to many others. Now this struck us as the best idea since sliced bread because basically we will do anything (including perverse sexual acts) for reviews. So, to anyone who can say "suit shaped censor mark" five times fast, we will send, via the Internet, two rolls of frozen mentos. We realize this is not the traditional challenge, but we are the Twins of Hazzard, and can do pretty much whatever we want (we may soon change our pen name to "Divas of Hazzard"). Also, has anyone else noticed the disturbing number of times this season that McCoy and Serena and have had dinner in fancy restaurants? This is what McCoy and Claire did all the time (and, strangely enough, Handsome Ben and Lennie did it too) if there is enough interest shown we intend to present a petition to NBC asking that under no circumstances do they become romantically involved. And now, because this authors note isn't long enough (but it's not like anyone reads them anyway), S would like to say something else.  
  
Disclaimer (well, sort of): It has come to our attention that it is customary for authors to do not only an insanely drawn-out author's note, but also a not-so-insanely-drawn-out disclaimer, about how they don't own the characters. But then, if they don't own the characters, then who does? Dick Wolf? Pffft. Please. Like Dick Wolf can own the wonder that is L&O. You can't own a character any more than you can own a sunset-for how could someone own the charming cynicism of Lennie Briscoe or the prim righteousness of Claire Kincaid? How can one claim to own-  
  
Excuse me, L here, but S has lapsed into hippiedom again. I must have told her a thousand times that while, yes, no one can really own all the charming (and not so charming) character attributes of those in L&O, it is very possible that we could be pulled from ff.net for not admitting, that we, do not own anything (or very little at least) of what we write about. Also we like gay people, we have gay friends, and this chapter is not attempting to make fun of them more than it does anyone else. Anyway, as this authors note is now large enough to take over Manhattan (just think of the cynical comment Lennie would have to come up in that situation) I must say.................  
  
On to the fic!  
  
*~*~*  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
*~*~*  
  
Welcome To The 2-7, Ladies Drink Free  
  
As soon as Logan arrived at the 2-7 on a snowy afternoon that happened to be the day before Christmas Eve Eve (of course Logan didn't know this, as he had spent the last week hiding in his apartment having nightmares about dancing tea bags and duct-taping his ventilation system so there was no chance of Carrie (insert last name) getting in) he knew that the people there were far too busy with their own problems to help him with his.  
  
The biggest problem was the one, that unfortunately caught Logan's eye first. Lenni! who had had increasing success with women since Green suggested the name change, had decided to not only attract more women faster, but to make a little money at the same time. It is entirely possible that all of this was brought on by lack of coffee, and was therefore a forgivable offense, but it was non the less an offense against nature.  
  
Lenni! had become a stripper. Now if any other detective than Lenni! had decided to do this we would have been treated to the sight of a pudgy belly on a n older cop, or a toned one on the younger version. Really, with the wide variety of police today we could have seen any number of pleasing or repulsing things. But with Lenni!, we could see...nothing at all.  
  
It is an unwritten law that in the law and Order universe, you are not allowed to see Lenni! without his suit on (well, except for that on episode when he wore a blue polyester jogging suit), and so to keep order in this chapter, and to keep the world from falling out of its orbit, the powers that be were doing something that, although it ruined Lenni!'s stripping, saved humanity. Because whenever Lenni! removed an article of clothing- even if it was just a tie or a shoe-someone or something put a black censor mark where it had been. Lenni!--not to mention the growing crowd of women and men of a certain persuasion around his desk, including Handsome Ben, who had given up on Logan three days before but still refused to take off the red satin teddy-was getting quite tired of this. He had stripped down to nothing but a silver thong, but no matter how many dollar bills were stuffed in it, the rest of his body remained blocked.  
  
Logan shuddered and looked around the precinct for someone else to discuss his predicament with, but Profaci was in Miami on vacation, Van Buren was in her office, Green was on tour, and Handsome Ben was...well, you know. Hoping for the best, Logan cautiously walked over to the desk where Lenni! had taken his act and tapped him on his censor-marked shoulder.  
  
"Do you want a lap dance?" asked Lenni! turning around to face who he assumed was an adoring (and adorable) female fan.  
  
"Gleek!" said Logan right before passing out on the cold floor of the 2-7.  
  
"Yes!" Said Handsome Ben, seeing Logan passed out on the cold floor of the 2-7, "now I can have my way with him!"  
  
"Hey!" Said Lenni!, running up and keeping Handsome Ben from molesting the unconscious Logan, "you stay off! He doesn't swing that way!"  
  
Handsome Ben smirked at Lenni!, as if to say, "I know something you don't know, na, na, na, na, na, na ,na." But walked off willingly enough, waiting until he would again have the chance to be alone with the man of his dreams.  
  
Meanwhile Lenni! pulled on his jacket (much to the disappointment of his female and specially oriented male fans, who, even though they couldn't see anything thanks to the censor mark, still enjoyed seeing Lenni! take his clothes off) and propped Logan up against his stage-er, desk.  
  
"What's bugging you, partner?" The aging stripper inquired of the drug addled detective.  
  
"Oh, Lennie," Logan sobbed, in a fresh onslaught of emotion that made his somewhat macho ex-partner doubt his previous convictions about Logan's sexual preference.  
  
"Um, it's Lenni! now," Lenni! said indignantly.  
  
"Oh, Lenni!" Logan sobbed, "you have no idea how hard it's been for me."  
  
"Tell it to the good stripper," Lenni! said kindly, ruffling his hair in a fatherly sort of way that Logan, tea-drunk as he was, took to be yet another come-on.  
  
"Well," Logan said tearfully, surreptitiously moving a few inches away, "I was going to the Seven-Eleven last week to get more tea and out of nowhere this woman came up to me and started calling me Big, and no matter how many times I told her I wasn't she still wouldn't leave me alone."  
  
"Poor Logan," said Lenni!, sympathy dripping out of his throat like cough medicine, "but hey, uh, if you aren't big, how do you get all those women?"  
  
"I'm not big," Logan explained quickly. "I'm large."  
  
"Oh," said Lenni!, not sounding convinced, "glad you cleared that up for me. I have to go back to stripping now." With that Lenni! ripped off his jacket and, to the cheers of his many fans, jumped up on the stage--er, desk, and tried to pull off his censor mark.  
  
Upon hearing the cheers of the strange stripper fans that had been camped out in the precinct for two days, Van Buren, who was now doing ALL the work of ALL the detectives, came out of her office to see what all the hubbub was about.  
  
"Lenni!?" she called. "Handsome Ben? Logan? Anyone?" Poor Van Buren hadn't left her office in over a week, having been holed up there day and night trying not only to solve all crime that the 2-7 was responsible for (as, after all, Lenni!, Green, and Profaci were the only detectives in the entire precinct...damn that Dick Wolf and his skimpy casting) but also to work her way through Lenni!'s papers, which went back to about 1976 and had never once been touched by America's favorite detective.  
  
Lenni!, upon hearing his name being called in that oh-so-familiar and yet somehow alluring voice ("please god, don't make them have an affair..." L moaned, knowing that, in his current libidinous state, Lenni! was uncontrollable by even the Twins of Hazzard) looked up just as he pulled down his silver thong and carelessly tossed it into the throng.  
  
The crowd went wild. Women screamed, Handsome Ben tried to climb onstage, people became hysterical. More than one person was seriously injured the fight to win Lenni!'s thong. But it was all for nothing-because, regardless of his efforts, Lenni! was covered by a suit shaped censor mark, black, impenetrable, and not the least bit flattering. But Lenni! was not concerned with that at the moment. For he had seen, standing helplessly outside her office door, the love of his life.  
  
*~*~*  
  
TBC...  
  
If the thought of Lenni! and you-know-who together is too much to bear.well, too bad. At least we didn't pair him with Handsome Ben. Just keep telling yourself that, and take long, slow breaths.  
  
Until next time...  
  
S and L 


	7. Leave The Gun Take The Mentos

Author's Note: Hello all! Sorry this chapter update took so so very long but in recent months both of us became melodrama-queens in other fandoms. And, like all other senseless celebrities, we forgot the people who made us famous. Except that we're not actually famous. Well, you know what we mean. Anyway, we've realized our loyalty to Profaci and have picked up the sacred fic once again. Hey, we had to find SOME way to make Cirocco's partner read it. So, anyway, with such a brilliant author's note you can just tell you're in for one thousand six-hundred words of pure fic enjoyment...right? Good. And now...  
  
On to the fic!  
  
Profaci Saves The Day  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
*~*~*  
  
Leave The Gun; Take The Mentos  
  
*~*~*  
  
Lenni! stared at the office from which Van Buren had just emerged. There was no way such an angel had just exited such a puny little room. Standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, staring at him in his suit- shaped censor mark, she was without a doubt the most beautiful woman had seen in the last three seconds. Her skin was so creamy, so milk-chocolatey. Like chocolate, Lennie! mused as a female patrolman deranged with lust (or patrol person if you prefer) tried desperately to pull off the UTTERLY NECESSARY censor mark and failed.  
  
"Hey!" said Green, walking into the 2-7 and reading Lenni!'s mind for no reason at all, "I'm the only one that gets skin descriptions like that."  
  
"Not so!" said Handsome Ben, thankfully sans teddy, but wearing suit ( "drat!" S muttered) "I too, have beautiful, food-colored skin. Although mine is more Carmel than chocolate...."  
  
"You ALL have beautiful skin," Lenni! said, his eyes getting misty with appreciation for the beauty that surrounded him. "Profaci's is like buttermilk, and Handsome Ben's is like café con leche made just right. Logan's skin"-Logan, hearing his name coming out of the mouth of a male stripper, whimpered and crouched behind his desk-"is like cream. But Anita has the most beautiful skin of all." Lenni! was getting really worked up now, walking slowly towards Van Buren and struggling even harder to remove his censor mark, if that was in fact possible. "Anita's skin is like a brand-new Hershey's bar, back when they only cost a nickel. In fact," he continued, moving to stand dangerously close to Van Buren (who looked like she was about to have a seizure) and twirling a delicate tendril of her hair around his forefinger, "everything about her is perfect. Her eyes are like ebony, her limbs are long and elegant. And her lips, like two plump rosebuds kissed by morning's dew and waiting to be-"  
  
"Lenni!" Van Buren shrieked in terror, "I'm married!"  
  
"Darling," Lenni! said, pulling Van Buren (against her will) close to his naked (but covered) chest and looking deep into her eyes. "Love can move mountains. It can dry up the ocean, it can make money in the stock market. You can get a divorce."  
  
"Lenni!," Van Buren said, pulling herself out of his sweaty grip and seriously considering joining Logan behind the desk, "I love my husband! Not you!"  
  
"What!" Lenni! said, jumping backwards in shock, his eyes beginning to tear up, "but...you nibbled my ear..." With that the poor detective/stripper ran off sobbing towards the men's room.  
  
"Oh way to go Lieu," Green said, running after Lenni!.  
  
"Yeah, he's an old man! Try a little sensitivity!" Handsome Ben added as he followed.  
  
Logan slowly stood up, looked around cautiously, and ran over to Van Buren's office where he hid himself behind the door. "Are-are they gone yet?" he whimpered.  
  
"Yes," Van Buren said soothingly, going over and slowly shutting the door so Logan was unprotected.  
  
"And Carrie too?" Logan said pathetically.  
  
"Yes," Van Buren said, even though she didn't have the slightest idea who Carrie was. "You're safe now."  
  
"Are you gonna hit on me now?"  
  
"No," Van Buren said reluctantly. She didn't usually go after her detectives, but after the show Lenni! had put on Logan was rather tempting in contrast. "Hey, Logan?" she said suddenly.  
  
"What?" Logan asked miserably.  
  
"Why is it that I stopped being attracted to Lenni!"  
  
"Well...you're Van Buren."  
  
"Oh, right. Sometimes I forget about that."  
  
Logan sat down in one of the chairs before Van Buren's desk. "Chief," he said, suddenly less meek now that all the people hitting on him were gone, "Do you think you could help me with making myself less attractive to men?"  
  
"What makes you think I would know about that?" Van Buren asked, looking pissed. "I'll have you know I got it goin' on!"  
  
"Aaaaaahhh!" said Logan, falling out of his chair. "Bad mental image! Very bad."  
  
Van Buren sighed very loudly. Sometimes she thought she would never figure out how exactly Dick Wolf picked out his detective leads.  
  
"Come with me sugar," she said soothingly to Logan as she picked him up off the floor. "We'll try to figure this out."  
  
"No more sex talk?" whimpered Logan as they walked out the door of Van Buren's office and into that room.....where they all have desks.....we'll call it the desk room.  
  
Logan looked around. Almost every desk there represented a bad memory for him. He had been sitting at one when Handsome Ben first propositioned him, and the one next to it was where Lenni! had danced that very morning. Another was his favorite desk for hiding behind when people started to hit on him. And so on. The only desk he hadn't been traumatized on, near, or at was the one McCoy sat at, just as he had been for the past week, completely oblivious to the morning's events as he enacted "The Godfather" with all his orange mentos playing the Corleones.  
  
Van Buren soon realized that Logan was unable to sit at any other desk, and when he looked at her with that wounded lamb expression that made him impossible to resist it was all she could do to drop-kick McCoy out of the precinct and pull out the now-empty swivel chair for Logan to sit in.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
McCoy sat in the snow outside the precinct and moped. Being drop-kicked could not be counted as pleasant in any way. And he hadn't even had a chance to grab his mentos. He only had one on him and that was Sonny. He couldn't eat Sonny. Something had to be done about this.  
  
McCoy started walking, hands thrust into the pockets of his parka and his homeless hat tugged over his brow as he scanned the streets for a convenience store. Several people stopped to offer him loose change, which actually wasn't that unusual, as he was not only wearing his panhandler outfit but also hadn't shaved since Claire dumped him and was mumbling to himself about Clemenza, the mintiest of them all. The truly strange thing was that whenever a stranger offered him money, he took it. Once he had been the best EADA in America, and now he was a bum. Where was his pride? McCoy wondered morosely. Gone. It had left they day the love of his life walked out on him and took up with a tie enthusiast.  
  
Suddenly McCoy turned his eyes to the sky. Well, not the sky but higher than the ground. In front of him were the two things he wanted most in the world. Claire, and mentos. Well, to be truthful there was a convince store and Claire's apartment building. But they represented the two things he wanted most in the world.  
  
Both of theses things, McCoy saw on further inspection. were threatened. The Seven- Eleven was about to close down, leaving him with no mentos, and he could see Ben Stone's car circling the street looking for a place to park. McCoy laughed to himself: only such an idiot as Stone would have a car in the city.  
  
With great strength of mind, body and spirit McCoy made one of the hardest choices he ever had to make (except for all the life and death ones, but those didn't count, that was work) and mounted the steps to Claire's apartment.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
When McCoy walked into Claire's apartment (having skillfully jimmied the lock, knowing that it was impossible for him to be arrested as he was the only bringer of justice in New York City and therefore could not be incarcerated for fear that anarchy would erupt on the streets), he found her standing barefoot in the kitchen, gleefully stirring the contents of a big pot with a wooden spoon. It was a side of her he had never seen when they were together, and he found it indescribably attractive.  
  
"Claire!" he said as he burst into the kitchen, unable to control himself, "I have to have you!"  
  
Claire looked up from her cooking to find McCoy kneeling before her on the linoleum. "I'll do anything," he whispered.  
  
"But Ben will be here any minute," Claire said weakly, not really in the mood to protest. In the week that she had spent with Ben Stone she had realized that McCoy was the only one who would ever satisfy her. In fact, at this very minute she was cooking up some chocolate body paint in the hopes of adding some spice to her sex life with Ben, having found out that he was just as boring in bed as he was in court, making him Jack's exact opposite. She had tried to make the relationship work, with presents of socks and mood music and any number of sexual aids, but nothing had been successful. She needed McCoy, and she knew it.  
  
"Will you have me back?" McCoy asked tenderly. "I'll give up mentos for you. I'll give up everything, if only you'll leave Stone."  
  
"Oh, Jack," she breathed, moving to walk into his outstretched arms.  
  
It was at this point that the chocolate body paint exploded, along with McCoy's dreams.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Additional author's note: did y' all know that Green (Jesse L. Martin) was in the original cast of Rent? He is sooooo good. Buy the soundtrack and hear his oh-so-sexy voice.  
  
TBC.......... 


End file.
